


Space0bongo's 100 Prompt Fills

by space0bongo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9698309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space0bongo/pseuds/space0bongo
Summary: Some of you know I have 153 unfinished AU prompt fills in my folder, so I thought I'd try to finish them. They are all Bellarke. Some are long, some not so much. Hope you enjoy!#1 Christmas fill where Bellarke happens while Clarke's sneaking around with Finn.#2 The one where Bellarke get the wrong egg/sperm at a fertility clinic.#3 Regency AU where Bellarke aren't permitted to marry by their families.#4 Creep - the steamy but unrequited (underage) au#5 X Men au (drabble)#6 - Tumblr drabble fill for 'platonic'#7 - Tumblr drabble fill for 'Artist!Bellamy + Medieval star maps'#8 - Alternate canon + Biblical style uprising + babies (see warnings)#9 - Fluffy drabble fill for 'The Miller Show'#10 - Blake





	1. Chapter 1

**#1 - The Balcony (Prompt fill for 'Clarke sneaking around with Finn')**

Clarke knows what she's doing is wrong, she always has. But it's only as she stands naked on a freezing fire escape that she actually reflects on it. Reflection is easier when your boyfriend literally drags you out of a warm and cosy bed to dump you in sub-zero temperatures because his wife got home early.

She huddles in the furthest corner from the window. Clarke knows she should be moving, she's a doctor, but doing so will make the staircase creak and as she knows from prior experience Finn's wife has ears like a hawk.

She's out there for what feels like forever before she catches the faint smell of weed, and that's just about all the warning she gets before a guy in a reindeer jumper crawls out of the window next to Finn's to crowd Clarke's space. He blinks at her in shock for a moment, the spliff hanging precariously out of his mouth, before he springs into action by pulling off his jumper and handing it to her.

"You're Finn's mistress right, the doctor?" The guy asks in a matter of fact way as Clarke frantically pulls on his jumper. It's beautifully warm, smells like pine cones and cinnamon, and covers her butt; if she were anyone else that would be enough to make her cry. "He talks a lot about you. I'm Bellamy." He sticks out his hand. "I live next door."

"Clarke," she takes it hesitantly. "He talks about me?"

"All the time," Bellamy purses his lips as he surveys Clarke's bare legs. "I take it from your lack of clothes that Raven came home early?"

Clarke rubs one rapidly numbing foot against the other. She really doesn't want to talk about Finn's wife. He sighs deeply as if her lack of a response deeply offends him. "You wanna wait this out at mine?" He hesitates when she does. "I know we're strangers but I have socks and hot chocolate."

Clarke's smile takes both of them by surprise. She tells herself it's because she feels relieved, and not because her heart hasn't stopped pounding ever since she saw his gorgeous face.

"Socks would be good," she says faintly and follows him through the window into his apartment.

Bellamy's place is considerably smaller than Finn's. It has a small kitchen with just enough room for the essentials and what looks like a refurbished crate serving as a table, and a separate living space that also seems to serve as a bedroom if the rumpled sheets are to be believed. It's very clean though, far cleaner than Clarke's at any rate and she has a regular cleaning service. She sits on the corner of the sofa bed when Bellamy directs her to it.

"One pair of socks and a mug of hot chocolate," Bellamy grins as he deposits a pair of black socks onto her lap. They're obviously his and so roll up all the way to the middle of her calves. He waits until they're on before handing over the mug; it's a bright pink mug with 'princess blake' written on it in purple sharpie. His ears turn red when Clarke raises an eyebrow.

"Christmas gift from my students. They got me a whole set." He smiles when Clarke says it's cute. "It's because I spent an hour arguing with them about the historical context of Game of Thrones." When she frowns he lets out a burst of laughter that does frankly amazing things to his eyes. "I teach college freshmen not kindergarteners even if the quality of the mug might say otherwise."

"I never said a word."

"You didn't have to," he juggles his own mug and two plate of cookies on his way next to her and Clarke can't help but stare at his arms under the close fitting henley he wore under the jumper he gave to her. She feels guilty about it, of course she does, but considering her boyfriend's probably having 'welcome home' sex with his wife right now she doesn't cut herself up about it. "I inferred it from your judgy eyebrows."

Clarke laughs, delighted as she grabs a cookie from one of the plates.

The next time Clarke sees him is a month later. It's snowing and this time she's on the balcony, wedged in the miniscule space between Finn's window and the wall. She had the presence of mind to grab a jumper this time, even if it only covers her up to her panties. Clarke closes her eyes as she huddles as best she can against the wall, desperately wishes she was in a warmer place with someone who actually cared about her, and then smiles when she catches the faintest smell of nicotine in the air.

Sure enough when she tilts her head backwards Bellamy's peering over the shared wall with fluffy grey earmuffs over his ears. He looks furious.

"I thought you lived on the other side." She says with fake cheer. "I mean the fire escapes are at the back so..."

"I catsit for Mrs Kane sometimes," he sticks out his hand and Clarke uses it to help herself up. It's so cold she would never have been able to get up otherwise. "You think you can climb over?" He asks quietly but then gives her once-over and thinks better of it as he hoists her over the wall. Like last time he pulls off his jumper, a thick white cableknit that looks sinfully soft, and she puts it on as quickly as she can. It comes up just past her thighs and feels so warm she actually groans. "Come on," he leads her into the apartment by her waist, "you're coming home with me."

"Look who has judgy eyebrows now," she smirks as he gives her a giant mug of hot chocolate. It's a bid to lighten the mood but doesn't work. Instead Bellamy's scowl deepens. "I'm sneaking around with a married man, okay. It's not always going to be a bed of roses."

"You could do better."

"Maybe," Clarke sighs, "but I've kind of pitched my tent already, you know."  
"Unpitch it," and then before Clarke can even think to react he's kissing her. And she can't help herself, she kisses back until his hands drift under the sweater she's wearing and she has to stop.

"I'm not like him," Clarke whispers. "I can't cheat," She closes her eyes when Bellamy moves to her neck instead. "Bellamy please stop."

He exhales a strangled breath into her hair but eventually does as she asks.

"One day you're going to freeze to death on the balcony or the fire-escape or the fucking roof, and for what?" he drops his head onto her lap, "A guy who's using you to cheat on his pregnant wife?"

Clarke closes her eyes at that but it doesn't really change anything. It doesn't certainly change the feelings that try to claw their way out of her chest everytime she so much as thinks about Finn.

When she opens them again Bellamy's watching her sadly. "It should be obvious by now, but just in case you didn't get the memo," he gives her the tiniest smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "I really fucking like you."

"Believe me I noticed," She runs her fingers gently through his hair, "but I'm not ready yet." She takes a deep breath. "Raincheck?"

-/-

fin


	2. #2 - Ark Fertility Clinic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #2- The one where Bellamy and Clarke get the wrong sperm/eggs at a fertility clinic.

Clarke receives the letter with the familiar 'Ark Fertility Clinic' postmark like clockwork in June, and like all the ones she's received over previous years it goes straight into her shredder unopened. Only this year she receives another letter a week later with the unfamiliar but foreboding postmark of 'Ark Family Law' and tears open the letter to find she's being sued.

"What does sued mean?" Her son asks without looking up from the drawing he's shading. It's a masterpiece of course; his artistic talent is about the only thing he's inherited from her.

"Nothing you need to worry about," She kisses the top of his head; his mop of hair is covering his eyes again so she supposes she'll need to take him in for a cut at some point. "I'm sure it'll all blow over soon enough."

Only it doesn't. Clarke finds herself getting calls at work, at home, but it's only when a tall dark haired man who looks just like her son approaches them at the gallery that she knows she's going to get screwed.

"You Clarke Griffin?"

"Depends on who wants to know," She drawls out all cool and confident when all she wants to do is tear out of there, grab her son, and take the first flight out of the country.

"You look just like her," The man says with a surprisingly soft voice. With the way he's clenching his fists and jaw she was sure he'd yell. "Aren't you even a little curious to see how she turned out?"

"I know what you're trying to do," She gulps back the emotion from her voice. "It's not going to work. Jake is mine. I gave birth to him. I raised him. I'm not going to give him up just because your girlfriend suddenly decided she couldn't raise the kid she gave birth to."

"My girlfriend isn't..." He fidgets self-consciously when Maya clears her throat behind them. "Look can we go somewhere to talk. I'm not here to take him away," He elborates when Clarke is about to interrupt. "I promise." Something about the way he says this, well it's believable.

"Ten minutes," Clarke tosses her work apron aside. "You can buy me coffee."

-/-

"Her name's Helen," Blake cups his coffee cup, slouching over it, as Clarke stares at his phone. He has opened the photo app for her and it's full of photos of a girl who looks exactly like Clarke; she doesn't want to look but finds herself scrolling through them anyway.

She doesn't want to cry either but tears are still pouring down her face. She feels like such an emotional wreck but this was supposed to be Finn's daughter; the daughter they should have had years previously but couldn't because he'd died and she had to fight the clinic in court to get access to his sperm. And now it turned out that it was all for naught because the Clinic hadn't even used his sperm in the first place.

"Her mom isn't around," He clears his throat when her eyes fly up because that's definitely a lie. All of the letters were instigated by her - Clarke knows, she reads each one before shredding it. "Echo's been helping with the legal stuff with the clinic since we found out that Helen isn't hers." He clears his throat. "She's my lawyer. That's it. She gave up her parental rights when she agreed to be my surrogate."

"She's a bitch," Clarke corrects wetly as she slides the phone back to him. She knows why he needed to use the clinic too; it was one of the first things the they told her after this whole mess came out in the open. Early on-set testicular Cancer; her son (hers, not Blake's) was likely to develop it too as it tended to run in families. "So what do you want so you'll leave me alone?" She asks imperiously, her eyes flashing even as his do. "I'll pay anything."

"Keep your fucking money," He glares at her. "I just want to meet him and I thought you might want to meet your daughter too."

"She's not mine," Clarke says immediately, but even to her ears it sounds hollow. Still, admitting that Helen's hers is feels too much like admitting that Jake's not and she can't do that.

"Whatever the Hell you want," Blake sighs tiredly, slumping back into his chair. "But I still want to meet him." He takes a deep breath. "Do you have a photo or..."

And well, she supposes it's only fair. She reluctantly hands him her phone. A photograph of her and Jake grinning at each other is on her lock screen. Blake doesn't cry like she did, instead he grows incredibly still as if the air's been knocked right out of his lungs.

"You look alike," She says unnecessarily because it's obvious that they do.

"Yeah." His voice comes out breathy and wistful and pleased; he sounds like a completely different man.

-/-


	3. Regency AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Regency AU. This will definitely be explored further as a standalone. I'm not 100 percent happy with it as it is. 
> 
> Prompt fill for 'Regency au where Bellarke aren't permitted to marry by their families'. Kane and Abbey are brother and sister here. They're against the marriage because Bellamy is not only a tradesman he's also mixed race and so 'unsuitable' for a lady of Clarke's position.

Octavia remembers when her brother and her cousin were different, softer, when they still got along enough that they would never dance an entire reel in silence.

She means to talk about it with them both the evening of her debut, but Clarke never comes back to the room they share at Kane manor. Knowing her cousin's penchant for late night reading, Octavia sneaks down to the small library at the back of the house. It used be her brother's, but since Bellamy opened his offices in town is mostly unused. Unsurprisingly Octavia sees the glimmer of light through the ajar door and is about to open it fully when she hears two people talking.

"Do you remember my debut?" Clarke asks in a soft breathless way that Octavia has never heard before.

With only a little hesitation she puts her eye to the keyhole and startles when she sees Clarke sitting on the sofa in one of her French inspired petticoats, the kind that leaves her shoulders bare and her calves exposed, her hair as unbound as a child's while Bellamy lays with his head on her lap.

He reads one of his heavy legal journals and every so often stops to pull Clarke's hands from his hair and to his mouth.

"You were the only sixteen year old in blue," Bellamy grins boyishly. "Lady Sydney was in conniptions."

"She forced me to make it up to her by dancing with her nephew," Clarke wrinkles her nose in distaste and Bellamy laughs. In these few minutes Octavia has seen her brother happier than the whole of the last year. "It's not funny. She wanted me to marry him."

"Your mother would never have allowed it." Bellamy folds his book, his finger bookmarking his place, and winds his free hand up into Clarke's hair. He tugs once and to Octavia's shock her cousin leans down to kiss his mouth.

"I wish she had allowed me to dance with you," She cups his face to kiss him again more fully. It's a much longer kiss and when they separate Octavia can see the flush on both of their faces. Her own face probably doesn't look too different. "I wore the blue dress for you."

"As I recall," Bellamy's voice grows deeper, "I got to take it off."

Octavia struggles to hide her shocked gasp and actually has to cover her mouth to avoid giving herself away.

"You are incorrigible," Clarke grins and gently takes the book from Bellamy's hand to place it on the side table behind her. The action causes her petticoat to slip a little further down her shoulder and Bellamy surges up to pull her onto his lap. "Bellamy..."

"Just this once," He kisses her neck, shoulder, the creamy expanse of her decottalage, as his hands slide up her calves pushing the petticoat up as they do. "I promise..."

"Don't make me any promises you cannot keep." She presses several fervent kisses to his hair.

"I promise the next time will be on our wedding night."

"We won't get a wedding night, sweetheart."

Octavia has never heard her cousin sound so gentle or broken, never seen her eyes soften in the way they do for her brother in that moment. It's a mixture of pity, tenderness, and so much love that Octavia finds herself blinking back tears.

"Octavia?" Startling at the feel of a hand on her shoulder, Octavia turns with tears in her eyes. "Go to bed," Lord Kane sighs wearily, "it is late."

"But..."

"It wasn't a request." Octavia wants to argue but doesn't and when she looks back sees her stepfather roll back his shoulders before pulling the library door shut.

-/-

"A carriage will return you to town tonight," Lord Kane tells Clarke with none of the fondness he usually reserves for her. "I shall also recommend to your mother that you no longer be permitted to visit unaccompanied."

"Is that really necessary?" Bellamy breathes softly, visibly stricken as he watches Clarke blink back tears.

"Considering I have my own daughter's reputation to think about, I believe it is." Lord Kane was never one to shout or chastise or deliver empty threats, his punishments are delivered swiftly and severely. "I will not have her exposed to such depravity."

The tears fall from Clarke's eyes and Bellamy gives her his handkerchief with trembling hands.

"We would never see each other again," Bellamy says quietly.

"You should have thought of that before you spent the night together." Kane sighs wearily. "Words cannot describe how disappointed I am in you, Bellamy. I raised you better than this."

"Please don't tell her," Clarke begs, her voice thick with emotion. "I'll leave, I'll do anything you want of me, but please don't tell her what we did. She would never let me return."

-/-

Octavia stays awake long enough to know Clarke spent the entire night with Bellamy, and neither of them emerge in the morning even for breakfast.

"Take a plate to Bellamy's rooms," Lord Kane tells Miller quietly as Octavia serves herself from the sideboard with shaking hands. "Remind him that he is a grown man and that if he doesn't join us for luncheon I will go upstairs and drag him out myself."

"Yes sir."

-/-

Octavia meets and falls in love with a doctor, and when Kane agrees to his courting her with all of the happiness of a proud father, Bellamy rides all the way to Chelsea in the rain and is led to Clarke's private sitting room still sopping wet and with such heartache that he's convinced his heart has either broken to powder to dropped like a stone right out of his chest.

"He said he wants her to be happy," Bellamy's tone is poisonous as Clarke scrubs a muslin through his wet hair in front of the fire.

"He wants you to be happy too," She kisses him briefly and he melts into her like he always does, chasing her mouth for more until she gently but firmly nudges him back. "I know it doesn't always seem like it but Uncle Marcus adores you at least as much as he does Octavia."

She says it because she loves him, because she wants to provide him some kind of relief, but the truth of the matter is that neither of them believe it.

He opens his mouth to say as much when the door creaks open to reveal Lady Griffin in all of her terrible glory.

"What is going on here, Clarke?"

"Bellamy was caught out in the rain on his way home from the club," Clarke says mildly without looking at her. "I am merely doing my sisterly duty to ensure he does not catch his death from the cold."

"That is noble of you Clarke but unecessary. Mr Blake is quite capable of drying his own hair." Bellamy closes his eyes before he can see his own pain reflected in Clarke's. "Is that not so Mr Blake?"

"Yes milady," when he opens his eyes again Clarke stands next to her mother all the way across the room. Neither of them are quite brave enough to look each other in the eye.

"Jackson will show you out when you have dried yourself." She gestures for Clarke to precede her out of the room. "Good night, Mr Blake."

"Good night milady." Bellamy says faintly, barely supressed tears burning his eyes.

-/-

"You must be pleased," Lady Griffin says with an insincere smile when she and Clarke call to convey their congratulations at Kane House, "to have a son on Fleet Street and a son in law on Harley Street. You always were quite the tradesman at heart."

"There is nothing wrong with tradesmen," Clarke says with a quiet intense fury that makes Octavia flinch.

"Indeed," Lady Griffin takes a sip of tea. "Without them where on earth would we get our hats."

Clarke lets go of her cup with a loud clatter, and Octavia would have to be blind not to see the pain in her cousin's eyes.

"Lincoln is the third son of a Duke," Kane says mildly from where he is sprawled out in his favourite armchair with a treatise on legal regulation in his hands. He does not look up from it as he speaks. "He is most certainly not like other tradesmen."

"Speaking of tradesmen," Lady Griffin gives Clarke a pointed look, "how is Bellamy? The poor boy was positively drenched when I saw him yesterday evening."

Kane finally looks up.

"He was well enough at breakfast."

"Good," Lady Griffin smiles even as Clarke pales. "I would hate to see him come to any disadvantage. London winters are awful."

-/-

_I shouldn't have sought you out like that. I didn't think of the consequences or indeed of anything beyond my own selfish desires. It would be better for both of us if I quit London immediately._

_Your departure would break a heart that is already fragile from our estrangement. I would never recover, Bellamy. Please don't abandon me to that kind of suffering; or at least not yet. Wait until you're able to find your own happiness before you do that._

_Your mother told you about Gina. Of course she did, the witch. I am sure she gloated over it. Let me clear up any misconceptions right away. She is the only daughter of the attorney I apprenticed under, and has been deemed a good enough prospect for me by both of our fathers for as long as I came of age. But she is not you. I want you in ways I'll never want anyone else. I don't know what I'll do if I can't marry you, Clarke. At the very least I'll lose my chance of happiness; at the worst I may lose my will to live._

_I am not one of the air headed ladies of the tonne you so like to ridicule. I am neither flattered nor impressed by such wild proclamations. I would rather you live unhappily than not at all, and if you can't do that for me then perhaps my mother was right about you all along, perhaps you are undeserving of my love._

_-/-_

Octavia and Lord Trikru's engagement ball is quite the spectacle. There is champagne, jelly, a multitude of sweets in sparkling crystal bowls that light up like stars under the chandeliers of Kane House. It truly is a beautiful sight, but all Clarke can see is Bellamy as he dances reel after reel with every girl except her.

"Stop staring my dear," Lady Griffin reminds her yet again, and yet again she ignores her. "Desperation ill becomes you."

She supposes it is her fault but the thought of Bellamy losing his will to live over her, terrifies her. She can't bear to even think of losing him like that. Better he dance (and marry) a thousand other girls than take such drastic irreversible action. But she can't help but feel slighted anyway, and so escapes to the balcony as soon as her mother is sufficiently occupied with her acquaintances. It is thankfully empty, the nice day having encouraged some of the guests to venture into the gardens instead. It doesn't take long for large hands to wrap themselves loosely against her sides. She can feel their warmth even through her corset, and instinctively leans back until her back is pressed tightly against a very familiar chest.

"You look beautiful," Bellamy breathes into her ear. "I love this dress on you." It's a pale blue tuille that flows in the Grecian style with hundreds of tiny crystal butterflies scattered through the pleats. "It makes you look like a princess." When she doesn't say anything he sighs wearily and presses himself even closer to her. "If you think this hurts wait until it's one of our engagements. How do you think I'll feel watching you dance with your fiance, when your mother won't even permit me to call on you."

"What do you want, Bellamy?"

"I want you to come away with me. Right now," Clarke feels a featherlight kiss to her throat and barely holds in her pleasured gasp. "I have a carriage waiting for us outside."

"Where would we go?"

"Home," he says sincerely and Clarke knows instantly that he means his Chelsea townhouse, the one she was never permitted to know even the address of, let alone visit. "But we need to make a stop somewhere else first."

The stop is Gretna Green. It takes them days to reach there, days of pretending to be married already, of guarded conversations and careful disguises, and when they are finally there, finally married, Clarke can scarcely believe it. She walks as if in a daze back their carriage, their marriage certificate carefully rolled up in the inside pocket of Bellamy's jacket.

"I thought you'd be happy."

"I am." She reaches for his hand and kisses the calloused fingertips. "But this is it, the step from which we can never return. Neither of our families will accept us again."

"I don't regret that," he leans in to press a short kiss to her forehead. "Do you?"

"No."

-//-

fin


	4. Creep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's another 3k words of this au. This is the only part worth publishing right now. Will be explored as a standalone soon.

He doesn't mean to because he's not that guy, he's not a creep, but the second his sister's best friend comes down to the kitchen wearing just an old t-shirt and panties he finds himself unable to look away. It's so bad and so obvious even his mom notices and she doesn't really notice much about him anymore.

"Clarke is sixteen," She scolds under her breath as she elbows him out of the way to get at the toast. "She's six months older than O."

"You think I don't know that," He hisses back but stops with a snap of his jaw when Clarke flops into the chair next to the one he's leaning against.

"Hey Bell," She says with an easy smile like she has no idea what she does to him. To be fair she probably doesn't because as he likes to remind himself over and over again (especially during the dark moments when all he wants to do is tell her how he feels or shove her against the nearest flat surface and show her) she's just a kid. A really hot well-developed kid, but a kid all the same, and even if he was the type of guy who'd go there (he isn't) he cares about her too much to screw her up. "You're going back already?"

"No rest for the wicked," He forces a half-hearted smile as she takes in his uniform from head to toe. Its the kind of look he usually gets from women twice her age when he's on patrol, the ones who can't tell he's only twenty (and the ones who can but don't care); it makes his heart ache with longing (and his fingers twitch because all he wants to do is bury his hands into her hair). "I'll see you later?" The question comes out softer than intended and makes his mom scowl because he really shouldn't be encouraging Clarke.

"Sure," She gives him a small but genuine smile that does horrible and amazing things to his heart, and he grabs his hat from the table on his way out pretending to ignore how her eyes follow him out the room.

-/-


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The x men drabble that broke my heart to finish. I really wanted it to be more hopeful than this.

Every single person that Clarke has sex with dies.

  
Some die slow enough that she can almost pretend it isn’t her fault. It took 5 years for Wells’s brain tumour to kill him. That was long enough to say goodbye, to make peace, to exchange whispered ‘I love you’s’ and 'May we meet again’s’ and 'don’t blame yourself, okay? It was just a coincidence and even if it wasn't, it was worth it. You’re worth it, Clarke’.

Some of them die instantly like Lexa with her aneurysm, and Niylah with the stroke that sent her into a coma for a year before her dad finally gathered the courage to switch her life support machine off. Clarke hates those deaths the most because she should be prepared for them, should be expecting them even, but they're still always a surprise.

Clarke hates killing the people she loves but at the same time she can’t stop herself from falling in love, can’t stop other people from falling in love with her, and is so inherently weak that when she should be saying no says yes instead. (She still has hope that one day she'll meet someone who won't die)

“My power is nearly the same as yours," Bellamy whispers tiredly into her hair after a mission that saw them both seducing people into their graves, "Who knows," he smirks faintly, "we might cancel each other out."

"I can't lose you."

Bellamy laughs but doesn't say anything, just pulls her in closer, and lets her press a line of kisses to his throat. His kisses might be poisonous but he loves receiving them, craves them in fact, and everybody knows it.

They make quite the pair; the girl who kills everybody she has sex with, and the boy who kills everybody he kisses.

-/-

 


	6. Platonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Tumbr drabble. A riff on Platonic.

Octavia calls it pay back. Bellamy stole her best friend so she stole his fuck buddy.

Unfortunately for him Raven is a bit too forthcoming about her knowledge of both of them in a biblical sense, and Clarke far too interested in the snippets of unnecessary and inappropriate information she doles out.

  
“They both have ass freckles,” Raven tells Clarke with a grin and Bellamy’s face burns even as Octavia groans. “But Octavia’s are way cuter.”

  
“I don’t know,” Clarke’s grin softens as she glances at him, “I think his are pretty cute.”

  
Both Octavia and Raven freeze at the comment. Somewhere behind them Monty chokes, and Bellamy’s pretty damned sure he can’t breathe.

“What?” She asks when Raven smirks at her. “They are.”

  
“I know they are,” Raven drawls, “the question is how do you?”

  
“Yeah bro,” Octavia says dangerously, “how does your, and I quote, ‘platonic best friend’ know what your ass looks like?”

  
“Is that what you told them?” Clarke scoffs as she turns to Bellamy. “That we’re platonic?” She emphasises platonic teasingly and he flinches because as bad as Raven is about giving him shit, Clarke is a million times worse. He prepares to be humiliated. “I guess that means the blowjob I gave you on the way over was platonic too right?”

  
“I need to go somewhere else.” Octavia pretends to gag before joining Monty and Miller by the pool table.

-/-


	7. So Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr drabble. Prompt fill for Artist!Bellamy + Medieval star maps

  
Bellamy Blake might not have an artistic bone in his body but he can draw. It’s one of the first things that Clarke notices about him, because when he puts his mind to it he can draw better than any fucking artist she’s ever seen. (Clarke should know, she’s the most popular art agent in the whole of the US).

However, until now, she never knew he could paint.

  
“You realise you could sell this right?” She asks as she stares at the huge canvas propped up in his den. It’s freshly painted, still wet, but the medieval style constellation map still manages to give Clarke goosebumps. “You realise I could sell it.”

  
“Have at it,” Bellamy sounds bored as he bends over the plans for an extension he’s building with Miller (they own a construction company together; Clarke thinks he can do so much better), and Clarke agrees.

  
Six days later Clarke has made Bellamy seven million dollars, and finally convinced him to give being an artist a try.

-/-


	8. Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for 'Alternate canon + Biblical level uprisings + babies'. Warning: mentions child murder.

After the war, after Arkadia falls, it is sacked (it's people raped, murdered, and pillaged) and those Arkadians unlucky enough to survive are divvied up amongst the clans as if they're nothing more than meat.

Bellamy is forced into a bandwagon heading for Polis, but not before having to watch powerless as his pregnant wife is stabbed right in front of him. (Her still-breathing body was set alight afterwards, and he doesn't think there will ever be a day when he won't be able to hear his wife's death screams, or smell her burning flesh).

"It will get better," A wild looking blonde girl, younger even than the children he used to lead, whispers quietly into his ear. The wagon is a crush of people crying and screaming and dying, but the girl is closer to him than the others and so he has no choice but to listen to her. "Wanheda lives in Polis. They say she'll do anything to protect the Skaikru."

"We're not Skaikru. That's their name for us," Bellamy snaps at her and in doing so catches the attention of everybody else. "We're Arkadians, we survived the destruction of The Ark and we'll survive this; they might have won this battle but we'll win the war. I know it doesn't seem that way now but we will. We will sneak into their cities, into their houses, into their fields, into their lives, and we will burn them from inside out just how they burned us. We will destroy them."

He doesn't know where the speech comes from, but it seems to work. Nobody screams or cries or pleads for their life after that; or at least not while Bellamy is with them.

-/-

"Wanheda will like this one," A grizzled pock-marked Grounder snarls after pulling Bellamy's face up by his hair to examine it. "He looks like the boy in her paintings."

"He looks like a Reaver," His companion, a tall thin girl barely older than ten or twelve, says disinterestedly.

Rolling his eyes the warrior pulls Bellamy out of the wagon by his hair.

"You're just jealous you didn't see him first."

-/-

Bellamy is held still by two warriors as his face is forcibly shaved, his hair cut so it no longer falls into his eyes, his entire body scrubbed raw with rough linens to slough off the dirt and grime he's accumulated in the last three months. During all of this he doesn't make a sound, not even when the warriors debate castrating him.

"What's the point?" The warrior from before, the one who chose Bellamy in the first place, laughs. "It's not like Wanheda can have children. Let her enjoy some cock for once."

"She can have children," Another warrior says seriously, her voice deep and grim and full of pity, "You know she can, you scraped her last three babies off the ground when Heda threw them out of the tower. You'd be doing her a kindness by castrating him."

Bellamy's heart freezes with dread and an aching sadness at the comment, and for a second he's almost overcome by his last memories of his wife (of seeing her die with their child inside her). He can't imagine what it'd be like, watching three children die, when he's so broken over one who hadn't even been born.

"You're a soft hearted fool," The first warrior laughs. "Wanheda or not, she's Skaikru. They don't deserve kindness from us."

-/-  
"A gift from Arkadia," Bellamy is presented to Wanheda in ornamental gold chains, his arms painted with black henna, and his lips stitched shut and still bleeding around the edges of golden thread. He is naked otherwise but Wanheda barely even looks at him. "What's wrong, do you not like it?"

"He is beautiful," She says in a deeper voice than he expected. "Thank you."

When they are alone she weeps as she gently cuts the thread keeping his mouth closed. Bellamy stares at her as she works, barely even feeling the pain; he takes in the braids in her hair, the black under her eyes, the wetness on her shirt over her breasts. He knows who she is of course (her real identity, not the names the Grounders call her). Every Arkadian does.

"You're Bellamy Blake," He winces when she presses red powder to his wounds and doesn't say anything even when the stinging fades. "You probably don't remember, but I sat behind you in Earth Skills." When he still doesn't say a word she kisses his forehead and tugs him down gently so his head is on her lap. Bellamy doesn't resist even though she stinks of sour milk and the sickly sweet smell of dried blood. "You know," She says quietly, her voice not much above a whisper, "there is talk that you're leading a revolution."

Bellamy closes his eyes.

"I will help you if you are." She strokes her fingers through his hair and for one glorious moment he feels something other than this aching grief that's consumed him whole.

(He feels safe).

-


	9. The Miller Show Bitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short fluffy drabble where they're actors.

"Three things nobody knows about Bell?" Clarke taps her finger against her lips as she pretends to think about the question. "Okay so number one has to be his middle name." She winks at the man in question next to her. "It's Bradbury. Brad for short."

The interviewer tries and fails to hide his snort. Bellamy glares at him while Clarke just smiles beautifically like she isn't divulging her co-star's deepest darkest secrets live on air to his bat shit crazy fans. "Number two is his shoe size."

She sits back in her chair. "He has surprisingly dainty feet for a guy his size."

Turning to look at him she's just in time to catch him roll his eyes. "Oh don't be like that Bell it's all fun."

"I never said a word."

Clarke gives him a shit eating grin before returning her attention to the interviewer.

"Number three," She gives the guy, Miller she thinks his name is, a small smile, "Is that he's going to be a father."

Next to her Bellamy freezes. In front of her the interviewer freezes. Around them all of the cast and crew who work tirelessly to make The Miller Show freeze because this is not what anyone intended when they designed this sketch. But they are all live and so they don't remain frozen in shock for long.

"Right," Miller grins moving the subject along. "How about you Bellamy. What three things do you know about Clarke that nobody else knows?"

Bellamy gulps once, twice, lifts his glass of water to his lips, then rolls his shoulders like he's preparing for a fight. Miller motions for one of the production assistants to be prepared to cut to commercial if neeeded. The last thing his show needs is for the guests to get into a fist fight live on air, but that's not what happens.

Instead Bellamy turns completely to Clarke and takes her hand into both of us.

"You're having a baby?"

Miller frantically gestures for a commercial.

-/-


	10. Blake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have more but it’s not ready to be finished yet.

Everyone who so much as glances as Blake Griffin instantly knows who his father is, even if they don't say anything. They have the same messy black hair, the same shaped eyes and mouth and chin, and when Blake turns three the same damned freckles too. It doesn't take long for Blake to realise it too even if his mom doesn't want to talk about it.

 

('You don't need a dad,' She'd cut him off when he broached the subject at the grand old age of five. "You have me.')

 

Blake thinks he can handle it, being able to see his father everyday without calling him out on not being there for him. But then all of a sudden when Blake is ten, Bellamy Blake's girlfriend becomes pregnant, and as his mom's apprentice he has to go to their house once a week to check on her.

 

"You're fine," Blake cuts off the woman's concerns half-way, shoving his stethoscope back into the leather knapsack he always carries with him. From the corner of his eye Blake notices his father stop sanding down the crib he's making. (Blake wonders if he ever cared enough to make him a crib; he doubts it but resolves to ask his mom anyway).

 

"You're not a doctor yet," Blake's father sounds angry. "Why don't you finish listening to her, ask your mom, and then come back with an answer like you're supposed to."

 

"Bell-" 

 

"I'm not your messenger." Blake glares back as he swings his bag over his head. "You don't like what I have to say then ask her the fuck yourself." 

 

Blake doesn't feel good about the exchange afterwards. It's the first time he's shared more than basic pleasentaries with his father, and just the thought that the man might hate him (when he doesn't even know him yet) makes him sick with dread. 

 

The following week Blake's mom comes with him to see them, which suggests that the man did indeed go directly to her. Clarke Griffin is light and pleasant and reassuring and explains everything she does to them, and to Blake as if he hasn't been helping her with pregnancy check ups since he was six years old.

 

"Here," Clarke gives the woman a vial of liquid. "It'll help with the nausea." She smiles at both of them, but her eyes linger on Blake's father (and his on hers) longer than is probably appropriate. On the way out of his father's house Blake asks if he 'ever had a crib like the one Bellamy Blake was making for his kid'.

 

('No,' Clarke says tiredly as she ruffles his hair. She won't say anything more even when Blake presses her).

 

-/-

 

Blake's father gets a daughter at the height of summer. She weighs seven pounds, has only a tuft of blonde hair at the top of her head, and her light eyes are wide open and curious even as her Mom bleeds out on the bed. Blake has to hold her as his Mom tends to hers because their father's hands are shaking too much.

 

"What will you call her?" Blake asks as he watches what his mother's doing (she'll test him about it when they go home, will probably even make him write notes later and grade them before filling in the blanks and filing them). 

 

"I don't know yet." Blake's father rubs a hand through his hair like how Blake does sometimes when he's tired. He gives Blake an uncomfortable glance afterwards. "It's getting late. You can sleep in my room if you're tired."

 

"I'm not allowed." Blake says simply, eyes hovering between what his Mom's doing, his dad, and the baby.  "Can I ask you another question?"

 

"Fire away." The dryness in his father's tone is belied by the small but very genuine smile he gives to Blake. 

 

"Do you love her?" Blake bites his lip when his father scowls at him, suddenly reminded that he's a warrior and a hunter and probably knows a million ways to hurt him above and beyond the little ways he already has. 

 

"She's mine of course I love her." But Bellamy Blake doesn't look at his daughter or his girlfriend when he says that, he looks at Blake's mom.

 

-/-

 

Bellamy Blake's daughter doesn't get a naming ceremony like the other kids in the village. Blake's mom tells him it's out of respect for her mom, and so it seems so sudden that one moment everybody's referring to her as 'That Blake Girl' and the next they're calling her Griffin.

 

Blake doesn't like it.

 

"She has colic," Blake's mom tells his dad during the girl's three week check up. Ever since their fight she hasn't let Blake take any routine appointment by himself. "That's why she won't stop crying. It's not entirely expected," She sets her mouth into a tight frown, "At her age she really ought to be on breast milk."

 

"Yeah well I have a goat. Until I can magically grow boobs that's what she's getting." Bellamy Blake scrubs a hand frustratedly through his hair. "How can I fix it?"

 

"You can't." Blake's mom snaps impatiently. "It either goes away on it's own or you man up and let one of the nursing mothers feed her." She hesitates when he gets that complicated expression on his face, the one that's equal parts anger and sadness and something else Blake hasn't quite figured out, and gets that melting look in her eye she only ever gets around him. "Are you even getting enough sleep, Bell?"

 

"I'd sleep better if you stayed the whole night." He takes a step towards Blake's mom and then hesitates when he sees him. "What's he still doing here?"

 

Some of the disappointment Blake feels at the words must show on his face, because his mom takes a step closer to him.

 

"Don't take your anger out on Blake." She sighs wearily. "I'll return later. In the meantime get some sleep."

 

-/-


End file.
